


Take Her If You Can

by Saltrova



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, House Stark, Missions Gone Wrong, Psychological Torture, Ramsay is his own warning, Random & Short, Rape/Non-con Elements, Short, The North remembers, This Is What I Do To Your Sister, Torture, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltrova/pseuds/Saltrova
Summary: Jon tries to save Sansa and well… Ramsay puts an end to that mess





	1. Ramsay

Her eyes were firmly fixed ahead which angered him. Her attention should be on him. Only on him. Unless he gave her permission to look elsewhere. But the meekness that she displayed in her bedchamber always seemed to vanish once she was permitted outside of it. 

It was as if the bedchamber sucked out all of her strength and fire, while everywhere else within Winterfell rejuvenated it. But despite this, he still allowed her out of the bedchamber from time to time. If only because the stark difference between her fiery spirit outside of it and her meekness within it offered him unending amusement.

It was always fun to throw her earlier actions back in her face as he punished her for it. But still, when she ventured out of the chamber, the boldness would overtake her again. 

Now as he stared at her profile, her pale, perfect cheek irked him. The desire to backhand her was overpowering. But it would be a foolhardy thing to do out here in the yard. She might cry out, which would alert everyone’s attention. 

He was almost tempted to lead her deep into the woods and unleash his frustration on her. But the resulting injuries would only lead to questions about why her mouth was bloody, her eye blackened, and her cheeks bruised.

Ramsay gritted his teeth as he maintained the polite facade that he was forced to display towards her outside of her chamber.

“When will the glass garden be restored?” He heard her question. She still had not looked at him. How dare she address him without providing him the respect of her undivided attention? Ramsay seethed.

“The glass garden was an invaluable asset. Constructed out of Myrish glass. Winter is coming and if there’s a war, the amount of vegetation that could have been harvested in it would mean the difference between life and death.”

He crushed her wrist until he felt the delicate bone within them being squeezed. She shut her mouth with a gasp and he turned to her, icy fire raging in his pale blue eyes. 

“Do not lecture me, _wife_.” He spat the word at her and then his face smoothed into a smile. “You do look so lovely right now.”  
The pain in her eyes and the discomfort on her face pleased him, so he gave her a forgiving kiss, deciding not to further punish her for her insolence. 

He released her wrist, disappointed that he could not see the red imprint that would have sprung up after his punishing grip. Her gown was long and thick, providing her protection from the cold; while simultaneously covering her bruises.

Unable to resist the temptation of marring her skin any longer, Ramsay decided that her obligatory walk around the courtyards to appease the Northerners' curiosity about the wellbeing of the last surviving Stark had been fulfilled. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along as he headed into the woods.


	2. Jon

He could hear her voice. It had changed from the high voice of a little girl to a more mature womanly tone. Different from the last time he heard her all those years ago. She had been sitting in the carriage with Arya and they were bickering back and forth shortly before their journey to Kingslanding. Back then her voice had sounded exasperated and anxious as she scolded Arya. It still sounded anxious. But a different type of anxious. A fearful anxious.

Jon tensed as heard the Bolton heir respond to Sansa in a low volume. He couldn’t make out what was said, but from the menacing tone, his mind registered that it was a threat. There wasn’t any answering reply. Only a little whimper that had his entire body on edge. He looked at Tormund. _Now,_ he mouthed.

They burst through the trees, toward the sounds of the voices.

The startled pair jerked in surprise as Jon and the wildlings rushed them.

Sansa’s mouth opened in a perfect O as her startling blue eyes widened. “Jon,” she whispered, her face as pale as if she’d seen a ghost. She tried to run towards him, but the Bolton heir grabbed her as he let out a piercing whistle.

Jon drew Longclaw as armed Bolton men materialized from farther down the wolfswood and charged at them. “With me!” he yelled as he and his men engaged in battle with them.

Tormund was a powerful warrior with the strength of a bear or so those who saw him fight claimed. He downed multiple men until they smartened up and started charging him three at a time.

Jon was a skilled warrior whose years of training with Winterfell’s former Master-at-Arms, Ser Rodrik, along with the battles that he had fought after joining the Night’s Watch had honed him into a deadly opponent when armed with a sword.

But he, Tormund, and the rest of the wildlings were soon overpowered as the Bolton men continued to increase in number.

He searched for Sansa as he was seized and dragged towards Winterfell, but she was nowhere to be seen. His view was obscured by the two men dragging him, but he was aware that they were being taken down to Winterfell’s dungeon. Jon realized how ill prepared they had been as the darkness of the dungeon closed in on him, and the sound of the key locking his cell echoed in his ears. 

Seven men attempting to take on dozens upon dozens of guards in broad daylight. They should have waited until nightfall.

But Jon couldn’t wait when he heard the rumors of how Bolton’s heir was mistreating his sister. _“I see a girl covered in blood, lying in a bed of ghosts with a mad dog,”_ Melisandre had told him. Her words had sent a chill through Jon who had heard rumors about the vicious nature of the Bastard of Bolton now the Bolton Heir.

Alys Karstark had ridden to The Wall shortly after, fulfilling another of Melisandre’s prophecies. "There are whispers that Bolton’s bastard is a mad dog that terrorizes small villages, removing people’s skins from their body with little provocation," the terrified girl had told him when he pressed for information about Ramsay. 

“And what about my sister? What about Sansa?” Jon questioned her.

“I haven’t been to Winterfell,” Alys had replied. 

Which only worsened Jon’s worry, causing it to fester and eat away at him. He spent days pacing, avoiding sleep, and turning away meals until Edd confronted him about his intense brooding. It was then that Jon made up his mind to go to Winterfell and save Sansa. But in his panic he had been rash. Not enough planning. He should have utilized the spearwives that Tormund told him about. In the cloak of night they could have disguised as serving girls bringing up a bath for the wife of Bolton. Then they would have dressed Sansa in a spare grey roughspun serving outfit and stolen her away, silent as thieves.

Jon closed his eyes. He had blown it. And now he, Tormund and the wildlings would die and Sansa would still be in danger.

 _You know nothing, Jon Snow._ He could hear Ygritte even now.


	3. Ramsay

Ramsay wore a satisfied smirk on his face as he took in the two siblings sitting opposite each other as they broke fast the next morning. The shock that appeared on his wife’s face as she entered the Great Hall and saw the bastard Jon Snow already seated, had filled him with glee.

He knew that she had expected him to torture and flay her bastard brother, which was exactly why he had not. At least not yet. 

Ramsay saw through the expressionless mask the bastard displayed, to the apprehension hidden beneath when he was led into the Great Hall by guards and seated at the table to eat. Toying with the emotions of his wife and her brother, and messing with their heads, currently pleased him far more than flaying Jon Snow would have.

The outcome of flaying was predictable. But this… This was a fun game. Unpredictable and invigorating.

He heartily attacked his food as he watched his wife tremble and actively avoid making eye contact with the bastard. She was afraid that if she acknowledged him, Ramsay would instantly have him flayed. He held back a chuckle.

She sported a swollen and split bottom lip that she had obtained during the night. He could still feel his fist slamming against her mouth. The blood that burst from it had been spectacular. Like an over-ripened plum, the skin on her tantalizing pink lips had ruptured, pouring out dark red liquid. 

Ramsay had warned her that if she screamed, he would knock her teeth down her throat, before biting down on her wounded lip. Pain had overtaken her face and he nearly burst in his pants; quickly ripping her nightgown off and brutally ramming into her, pounding away until she bled and cried. 

He paused in the middle of cutting his meat. “Wife? What happened to your lip?” he questioned, his voice filled with concern. 

She froze, paling beneath her already pallor complexion.

“I-I-I don’t know,” she stumbled out.

“Were you hurt in yesterday’s attack? When this intruder and his savages invaded our woods?” Ramsay demanded.

She started trembling and didn’t reply.

Ramsay turned to Jon Snow. “You and your savage friends harmed my wife. Tell me, bastard, how many fingers should I flay off of savages that dare to injure a highborn lady soon to be the Wardeness of the North?”

“Neither of the men with me would have harmed her. It was probably one of your Bolton men that accidentally injured her in the chaos,” the bastard remarked defiantly. 

“Are you suggesting that my own men are not to be trusted? That they would turn against me and lay hands on my wife?” Ramsay’s rising voice carried across the long table and Sansa stared down at her plate, her figure hunched and shaking.

Ramsay watched as Jon Snow looked at his sister, his expression softening, before he turned back to him and steeled his features. “You’re right,” the bastard relented. “It probably was me. In my excitement to reunite with my sister I probably caused her harm without realizing.”

Ramsay’s features relaxed into a satisfied smile. “If that’s the case then there won’t be any need for flaying today. Unless of course, you’re still harboring crazy ideas about stealing my bride away. Now that would be a bad idea with tragic consequences, Jon Snow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is not weak. She just wants to protect Jon and she’s terrified of acting in a way that might cause Ramsay to flay Jon or worse.


	4. Sansa

Sansa laid a palm over her queasy stomach as she paced in her chamber. The anxiety that filled her caused the little food that she had consumed to continuously threaten to make a reappearance on her chamber floor. Jon was back in Winterfell and he was miraculously still alive, but she didn’t know for how long that would remain the case. It was so sweet to see him once again, she acknowledged. But that joy was dulled by her fear for his wellbeing.

It was only a matter of time before Ramsay turned to his games and began removing body parts. She couldn’t let that happen to Jon. She had to get him out, somehow. She wondered if she would be allowed out of her chamber again today. And if she was, would Jon be in the same room as her again? All the questions caused her agitation to increase as she paced from one end of the chamber to the other.

Sansa heard keys unlocking her chamber door and dove into bed, quickly drawing her furs up.

“M’lady? Master has ordered me to escort you to the courtyard.” She heard Reek’s voice and slowly lowered her fur.

She was already dressed, so she slipped out of bed and put on her shoes.

Ramsay was standing near Winterfell’s walls with Jon and several guards when Reek led her to him.

Sansa kept her face blank, although her arms ached to reach out and hug Jon. She just wanted to touch him and assure herself that he was real.

Ramsay turned as they approached, his eyes flickering over them before he dismissed them and returned his focus to Jon. 

Jon’s eyes widened as he spotted Reek, leading Sansa to believe that the guards had probably fetched him while Reek was fetching her.

Ramsay watched the rage play out on Jon’s face before he spoke.

“Your little brothers’ burnt bodies were displayed right here,” he stated, pointing. “Strung up like rag dolls. I saw them when I rode in with my men after we slaughtered the sea krakens that had overrun this castle. Rotted and burnt. They stunk up this entire courtyard. Even when I went inside the smell of burnt, rotting, little Stark boys lingered for days. It was terrible.”

Jon’s face had turned hard as granite and Sansa silently besought him not to react. _His words can’t hurt Bran and Rickon, they’re already dead. But you will be too if you do something stupid._

“How would you have punished the kraken Theon Greyjoy if you were in my position? Arriving in your new castle just to be forced to deal with such an offensive odor and sight?” Ramsay leaned close to Jon’s ear. “I _killed_ the kraken. That type of disrespect was unforgivable.”

When Jon’s gaze went back to Reek, Ramsay immediately chuckled. “Oh no no no,” he said amused. “This here is not Theon Greyjoy.” Ramsay’s eyes were filled with a mad gleam as he turned to Reek. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Reek. Reek. My name is Reek. Faithful Reek! Loyal Reek!” Was the automatic reply given by the broken man.

Ramsay turned back to Jon, his face alight with smug satisfaction. “This here is Reek. My most _loyal_ pet.”

Sansa held her breath, afraid that Jon might lose control, his anger was so great. But although his eyes were alight with fury and hate, his features eventually cooled into an inexpressive mask.

Ramsay turned his back to them with a smirk. “Take them back to where they belong,” he ordered.

When Sansa arrived back in her chamber, the conflict in her head was worse than before. 

Being near Jon caused her to selfishly want to keep him here longer. But she knew in her heart that Jon remaining at Winterfell would only lead to his eventual death. She splashed water on her face from the basin that was on her table, before heading to her bed, only to stop abruptly. Her eyes widened at the sight of keys that lay next to the foot of her bed. They were the keys for the dungeon, she was sure of it. But how could it be? Mayhap they’d fallen out of Ramsay’s pocket when he visited her last night and he was yet to notice.

She bit her nails nervously. What should she do? If Ramsay came looking for the keys and she lied about their whereabouts, he would punish her terribly for it. But he had another set and probably didn’t notice the absence of these ones. Plus she needed the keys. They were the only way she could get Jon out of here. Butterflies filled Sansa’s stomach and she quickly returned to her bed and pulled her knees to her chin. She wrapped her arms around her knees as she rocked and pondered.

By supper time she had made up her mind. Ramsay allowed her down for supper but Jon wasn’t there. She hid her disappoint and kept her focus on her meal.

The serving girls had readied her bath when she re-entered her chamber, so she sunk into the hot water, allowing the heat to soothe her tense muscles. Sansa was loathe to step out of the tub even when she finished bathing, but the water was turning cool, so she quickly stepped out and oiled, slipping into her nightgown and picking up a brush. She brushed her long auburn hair, so like her mother’s and her three brothers. So different from her sister’s and… Jon’s. _It’s just me and Jon left. What would I do if I lost him?_

She climbed into bed and lay awake, unable to sleep as she waited for Ramsay to pay his nightly visit, but he never came. Sansa took a deep breath and slipped out of her bed. She picked up the dungeon keys then tiptoed to her chamber door and tried the handle. It was unlocked. Quietly as she could, she opened the door and crept out, silently shutting it behind her. 

Her heart thudded in her chest the entire way to the dungeons. She quickly unlocked the door and hurried in. She hesitated to call out in the dark dungeon, lest someone hear her that shouldn’t. But the dark frightened her and the dungeon was an intimidating place. “Jon?” she called out carefully. Her voice sounded scared even to her own ears.

“Sansa?” she heard, returned in the darkness.

She let out a whoosh of air as she rushed towards his voice.

“Sansa, what are you doing here?”

“Shhh,” she whispered. “I came to save you.” She tried the keys until she unlocked his cell door.

“What?” Jon responded in disbelief. “Go back to your chamber.”

“No!” her voice was fierce as she glared at him. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Sansa,” Jon started again, but she ignored him, continuing on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Come quickly,” she whispered. "The guards are gone. I’ll help you sneak out. Go to the gallery, then enter the lord’s door into the Great Hall leading to the dais. You can slip out of the main doors into the main courtyard… or if that’s too risky you can try the Great Keep. Cross the inner bridge to the Armory. If you climb out the Armory window and scale down the side of the building it will lead you to the godswood below. Bran could do it and he was only ten.” Desperation had crept into Sansa’s voice. 

“I’m not leaving without you,” Jon replied fiercely. 

“Jon, listen to me!” she pleaded. “You have to go. If I stay behind maybe Ramsay won’t hunt you. But you _have_ to leave or he will kill you. Only he will torture you and flay you first.” Her voice had begun to quiver. 

“I can’t climb, Sansa. And even Bran ended up falling,” Jon reminded. “We’ll escape from the Great Hall and take the pathway to the Battlement. There are seven of us plus you. Tormund is half bear. He will take care of the guards at the Battlements Gate then we will climb to the top and jump off into the snow. You won’t believe how high it’s piled.”

But Sansa was shaking her head before he finished. “Come,” she urged.

“But my men,” Jon protested.

“I will free them once you’re gone. But you need to leave _now_ ,” she insisted. 

Together they crept out of the dungeon, creeping quietly down the hall. The hall was devoid of any other human presence as they silently ascended the steps. They made it to the dimly lit gallery before Sansa decided she wanted to go back to her chamber to get a wolfskin blanket for Jon to wrap himself in because the snow had begun to fall down heavily.

They hurried to her chamber and Sansa gasped as she saw the guards that stood in front of her door. They hadn’t been there when she left! She spun around to tell Jon to run, but the guards had already sprung into action. “No!” Sansa screamed as they tackled him to the ground. “Please stop! It’s my fault! I did it!” She sobbed as they attacked Jon, raining vicious blows down on him before a guard grabbed her and pushed her into her chamber. Her heart dropped as she saw Ramsay waiting for her on her bed.

“There goes my treacherous wife,” he greeted. His face was calm and his voice amused. 

But Sansa avoided his eyes, afraid of what she would find there. The whole thing was a game, she realized. Ramsay had deliberately left the keys in her chamber and kept the dungeon unguarded so he could give her false hope that she would be able to get Jon safely away. A sob caught in her throat. _I should have known._


	5. Jon

Jon felt a blindfold being tied over his eyes. He couldn’t see anything and his body hurt from being pummeled by the guards. He was roughly pulled up and then led into a chamber. Sansa’s chamber. He could hear her crying and Ramsay’s amused voice.

“Ah. There goes the bastard Jon Snow. The intruder that led my wife to commit such an unspeakable act of betrayal against me.”

“Let her go. Your anger is at me. I’m the one you should punish,” Jon replied, trying to remain calm.

“But why, bastard? Your loyalty is not to me but to the Night’s Watch. Therefore you do not answer to me. But my sweet wife...Now _she_ will be punished for her betrayal. And it’s a good thing that you will be here to witness it. Or at least hear it.” There was a chuckle.

Jon tried to charge towards Ramsay’s voice but he was grabbed and thrown down into a chair and bound to it with thick rope.

“Pay attention, bastard. Maybe next time your sister tries something stupid you will remind her of how I repaid her treachery,” Ramsay advised.

Jon sat panicked and immobile. His vision was impaired by the blindfold and his hearing enhanced by the forced darkness.

His blood boiled when he heard Sansa’s sobs increase before they turned to screams. He could hear the sound of fists pummeling flesh and the answering pained cries. He struggled against the ropes that bound him, but that just resulted in them tightening and crushing his injured ribs. The laughter of the guards surrounding him mocked his efforts as he gnashed his teeth. When the sound of the vicious blows died down, Jon heard footsteps approaching him. He tensed, disgust and fury consuming him. 

“Do you want to play a game?” The Bolton heir whispered into his ear. “My wife’s favorite game.”

He felt a cold object get pressed into his hand and curiously ran his fingers along it, before recoiling as he realized what it was. “Why are you handing me a knife?” Cold sweat broke out and began to drip down his body. _Our blades are sharp._

“Do you want to help me cut her?” Ramsay’s voice was light and playful.

Jon felt his hand start to shake. He was still tied to the chair so he couldn’t lunge at Ramsay with the knife. 

“Cut her. She won’t mind," the voice taunted in his ear. He felt the rope loosen from his body as he was untied from the chair. Rough hands pulled him up and shoved him across the chamber and Jon’s grip tightened on the hilt of the knife. He waited for Ramsay to speak again, ready to swing the blade and sink it into his eye if he was lucky.

Ramsay seemed to anticipate the direction his thoughts were headed. “If you cut anyone other than my wife with that blade, I will gut her.”

There was a gleeful promise in his words and Jon believed it. He slowly loosened his grip on the knife’s hilt as a feeling of helplessness washed over him. 

“Now,” Ramsay began in an unhurried tone. “Where were we?” He invaded Jon’s space again, leaning close. “Are you refusing to cut my wife? Are you refusing to make my wife happy?” 

Jon stared at the floor, for a few seconds, before he charged forward. He took the startled guards by surprise as he slammed into Ramsay and started punching him. He only got in four good punches before the guards were on him, pulling him up and throwing him across the floor. Kicks and stomps were rained down on him and he shielded his head as best as he could. 

“No!” He heard Sansa scream. There was a loud crack and a pained filled gasp, then her muffled sobs. 

“You made the wrong choice, Snow. Being Lord Commander and all, I thought you would be smarter. Now my dear wife will have to pay for everything that her actions have wroth. And also for your folly. For every refusal you made to cut her, I will repay her twofold.”

The chamber fell silent, except for some rustling. As the silence dragged on, it threatened to drive Jon mad, along with the darkness that the blindfold forced on him. Jon was now tied up, the heavy ropes securing him to the chair once more, the pain in his ribs nearly causing him to gasp. The silence was abruptly pierced as Sansa’s bloodcurdling scream filled the chamber. Jon jerked back, feeling as if the scream had landed him a physical blow. The scream was followed by another and another, each increasing in volume and hysteric, invading his head until he believed that he would go mad and rip his ears off. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER?!” He roared. His only reply was more of Sansa’s hysterical screams. 

He struggled against his bound, his instinct to protect her causing him to fight madly against the ropes, even as they constricted against him, making it harder and harder for him to breathe. He was her big brother and he was failing her. Bound and useless while she was tortured. The fact left him shaking and nauseated. Jon heard a thump that sounded like a body hitting the bed and then belt buckles being undone. His blood froze and dread filled him because he knew what was coming next.

Sansa’s screams weakened, transforming into faint whimpers. The fear in her voice slammed into his heart, the pain worse than any wound an arrow could inflict. And then she was crying out, her broken sobs filling the chamber along with other sounds. Flesh slamming brutally into flesh. The bed creaking, Ramsay hissing, and the guards’ encouraging hoots.

_I will kill them all._ The thought filled Jon’s mind and he knew that it was a promise that he would fulfill. He tried to drown out the sounds, forcing his mind to drift away, and it seemed to work because the next thing he knew a fist clamped into his hair and his head was brutally jerked back.

“Next time she tries to help you escape, her punishment will be worse.”

The threat was snarled into his ear. Jon ignored it as he strained his ears to hear any sound from Sansa and assure himself that she was okay, but he was roughly pulled up and shoved across the chamber and out of the door. It slammed shut behind him and the guards.


	6. Reek

Reek lay groaning on the floor where Master had left him after using him. He was battered and in pain, but he was so lucky that Master had been merciful and allowed him to keep his remaining toes and fingers for another day. Although he had growled a warning at Reek before slamming out of the chamber.

 _If you’re still in here when I return, I will flay all of your toes,_ he had threatened. 

Master was already in an ill mood because his wife had conspired with the intruder and tried to help him escape. Lord Ramsay had flayed several of the wildlings in response to her deceit and carried her out to the yard to look at what she had caused. Only two wildlings and the intruder that Master hated were still locked in their cells. The rest had been turned into dog meat after Master’s wife was forced to stare at their skinned bodies for a whole morning right after breaking her fast.

Reek’s body went cold as he thought about Master’s wife. Other than being forced to looked at the flayed wildlings, she had not left her chamber since her punishment. When Reek carried up food for her, she remained curled up in bed, unresponsive. Her sickly skin appeared paler than the pillows, her bruises and cuts more vivid than the colors that painted the sky at sunset. He trembled at the empty look in her face and the blankness in her eyes.

She had also bled nonstop for a while, and it wasn’t her moonblood. Master had ordered the maester to tend to his wife when Reek informed him of the bleeding. He still wasn’t sure how Master punished her the night that she released the intruder, but he had heard her screams of agony and they still caused shivers to rack his body if he thought about it too long.

Reek had stayed in the chamber to make sure that the maester didn’t give her anything that Master had forbidden. When the maester completed his examination, his face had been grave. _She lost the babe that was forming._

He still remembered Master’s terrible rage when he relayed the maester’s words and then his world had gone immediately black when Master’s fists slammed into his face right after. Reek left the chamber, making his way outside and heading to the kennels. He shivered in his torn, threadbare clothes, his body aching. He couldn’t wait to reach the kennels and be in the comforting presence of the hounds. Well, they were comforting when they weren’t hunting. 

“Theon!” 

Reek froze and spun around, wobbling and nearly falling as his missing toes threw him off balance. 

“Wh-who?” he called, wondering if Master was playing a trick on him.

“Theon!” the voice came again. 

“Reek! My name is Reek! I know my name!” he yelled into the darkness. Master was surely testing him.

“Theon Greyjoy,” the voice insisted firmly.

Reek trembled as he shook his head wildly in denial.  


“Go to the crypts. Help save them,” the voice commanded, and then a gust of wind blew, pushing him towards the crypts. 

He attempted to resist, but the gust was unrelenting until he began to move his feet. Reek shivered as he walked, wondering if The Old Gods had finally noticed him after a lifetime of him being rejected by every single God.

 _Don’t you mean the Drowned God?_ A treacherous voice snapped inside his head.

Reek shook his head violently. “That’s Theon Greyjoy’s god.” He was starting to panic. He must never forget that Theon Greyjoy was dead and he was only Reek. _But The Old Gods spoke to me. They called me Theon._ Reek shivered as confusion roared in his head. “The crypts,” he muttered. “I must go to the crypts.” 

He carefully made his way to the crypts, keeping himself out of sight until he had slipped inside. His feet led him on their own accord, seeming to know where to go. Suddenly he heard whispered voices and hugged himself. _Have the ghosts come alive at last? I hope they have mercy on me._ But when he spotted the source of the voices, he halted startled. 

Six serving girls stood huddled together, deep in conversation. One of them immediately pulled a knife when she noticed him, and the others stared at him, their eyes hostile.

“State your business, Ramsay’s pet!” the knife clad one spat.

Reek’s eyes widened with terror and he raised his arms in surrender. “The-The Old Gods. They sp-spoke to me. They told me to come to the crypts and help save them.”

The serving women looked at each other in confusion, then the knife was slowly lowered.

“I’m Holly,” this came from the knife brandishing lunatic.

“I’m Rowan,” said the tall skinny one with an untamed mop of red-brown hair.

Slowly they introduced themselves. Myrtle was gaunt with grey hair. Willow Witch Eye had a black braid that hung down to her waist, while Frenya caught the eyes with her rounded, well shaped hips, and over endowed bosom. The last one was Squirrel; she had darting eyes and a restless energy.

Reek slowly lowered his arms as his heart rate returned to normal. “Wha-what’s the plan?” he stammered, wondering where his boldness came from. Reek left the crypts, a huge cloak in his arms, the plan in his head. First, he had to get the dungeon keys and free Jon Snow and the remaining wildlings. Then the prisoners were to put on the Bolton uniforms hidden underneath the cloak Reek was carrying so that they would blend in. Once outside, they were to hurry to the crypts and hide. 

Squirrel would climb into one of the towers and start a fire which would cause a commotion. During the ensuing chaos, the serving woman, posing as washerwomen, would help him carry water to Lady Sansa’s chamber for a supposed bath.

 _Lord Ramsay is very angry about the fire. He demands that his wife be squeaky clean when he comes up to her chamber._ That’s what he would tell the guards if they became suspicious.

Once inside Lady Sansa’s chambers, Squirrel would switch clothes with Lady Sansa and escape through the window while Reek and the washerwomen whisked Lady Sansa away undetected. If luck was on their side, even the guards outside her door would be called to help with the fire and find who started it.

_But Lady Sansa has been unresponsive the last few days. I will tell her Jon Snow still lives. Mayhap that will give her strength to want to live too._

Reek reentered the castle and silently crept through the halls like a ghost. No one ever paid attention to smelly Reek. Invisible Reek, and he was glad. Becoming one with the shadows, Reek made his way to Master’s chamber. He prayed that Master had not returned as he slowly entered. But the chamber was still empty, and Reek immediately hurried in and grabbed the dungeon keys. He clenched the keys in his hand, trembling as he thought about what he would have to do.

“No. No. No. What if Master is furious?” he whimpered, fighting the urge to run to Master and confess.

_The Old Gods know my name. They said I must._

He made it to the lower level where the dungeon was located. It was the hour of the wolf and the guards were asleep. _Oh how angry Master would be if he knew._

Reek slipped quietly into the dungeon. He was used to the dark. He made his way carefully to where the intruder was being kept. He was awake and already thinner than when he first arrived. He stared at Reek with accusing haunted eyes. But Reek was sure that look was meant for someone else. The turncloak Theon Greyjoy, mayhap. But Theon was gone and dead and Reek was all that was left.

_The Old Gods called me Theon. They know my name._

Reek needed to get the prisoners away. He quickly unlocked the cell that Jon Snow was in and backed away. He had the grey eyes of the ghosts that haunted this castle. “Come, before Master finds out. You must leave.” He told him. “I will show you the way out.” 

But Jon Snow just glared at him. “I am not falling for another of his tricks. Nor am I leaving without my sister.”

He sounded angry and Reek stammered to explain. “T-T-This isn’t a trick. It’s just Reek getting you out. We have to go.” Reek looked at the floor as the anger radiating off of the intruder seemed to fill the space between them.

“I’m not leaving without my men either,” he finally snapped.

Reek looked up, grateful that Jon Snow had not refused to leave. He quickly stumbled to the other cells and unlocked the two remaining wildings. 

The giant red headed one and a smaller dark haired one. They were only alive because Lord Ramsay had not gotten around to flaying them yet. The maester had advised him against bedding his wife before she healed completely, so a few peasant girls had been forced to temporarily take the place as Lord Ramsay’s bedwarmer before he hunted and skinned them alive.

But once Lord Ramsay grew bored of hunting and flaying peasant girls, he would turn his focus to punishing the remaining prisoners like they deserved. Reek almost wanted to lock them back in the cells so that they could get the punishment that they were due. How dare they try to steal Master’s wife away? How dare they cause Master to lose his unborn baby? How dare they make Theon struggle to come back to the surface when Reek and Master had worked so hard to kill him?

_Theon. Remember The Old Gods. They know my name._

Jon Snow moved to stand in front of Reek’s face. “Once I save my sister, I’m going to come back for you. First I am going to kill the traitor Ramsay. Then I am going to take your head. I will provide you the mercy that you provided my little brothers.” 

Those ghost eyes burned into his and Reek shivered, unable to answer. The grey eyes of a dead house. He needed to be gone soon. Away from here. Winterfell had enough ghosts and one more set of grey eyes didn’t need to haunt its walls.

_Reek. Reek. It rhymes with weak. Jon. Jon. It rhymes with gone. Like Master’s wife would be soon._

Reek began to shiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Bran has superpowers that work far away from the weirwood tree.


	7. Reek/Theon

He led the prisoners who were now dressed in Bolton armor past the sleeping guards, often going ahead of them to make sure the coast was clear. When he led them as far as he could, Reek told them in a fierce whisper. “To the crypts. Hide there and don’t come out until I get you.” 

Jon Snow stared into his eyes, as if searching for answers in Reek’s tormented soul, then he gave a nod and made off with the wildlings.

Reek waited until they were gone before he once again headed to the kennels. That’s where Master expected him to be. He might check for him once the chaos began. Reek had barely settled into his cage when the shouting began. 

“Fire!” he heard it in the distance. More voices picked up the cry. “Fire!” Alarms went off as the castle began to wake.

Reek lay down, keeping his focus on his next course of action. When Master came to the kennel to warn him not to step foot outside of it, Reek knew that it was almost time to kick off the next part of the plan. He waited a while before creeping out, gaping at the fire as it swallowed the icy snow that fell from the heavens. It was ferocious and lit up the night sky, burning brightly.

 _Winterfell is burning,_ Reek thought in horror as he stumbled to the crypts, unnoticed by the panicked and frantic men.  


Squirrel had a huge grin on her face when he met up with the serving girls. “Let’s go,” he told them. “The kitchen will be open now. The servants are getting water from there to put out the flames.”

“I told Jon Snow, Tormund and Hagr to meet us at the Battlement in about fifteen minutes. It’s too risky to keep going back and forth,” Holly announced.

Reek nodded.

They left the crypts, and made their way to the kitchen; trying to keep out of the way as men rushed back and forth carrying buckets of water and barely sparing them a glance. The seven of them entered the large busy kitchen, filled with bellowing guards, and anxious potboys. Even the cooks were up to feed the men once the fire was out.

“Six pails of hot water for M’Lord’s wife,” Reek told a harassed looking potboy.

The potboy gave a nod and hurried off. 

When their pails of hot steaming water were ready, Reek and the serving women each grabbed one and made their way to the Great Keep. The guards that guarded the doors had been called away to the scene of the fire. They made their way in through the double doors, careful not to spill their respective pails of water. Up the steps they climbed, then down the hall to Lady Sansa’s room.

Two of Master’s Bastard Boys stood guarding the door and Reek nearly fell to his knees afraid that they would know his deceit and run to tell Master. But in his head he remembered how the Old Gods had spoken to him and given him this mission to complete. 

_I must help save them._

“Lord Ramsay is very angry about the fire. He demands that his wife be squeaky clean when he comes up to her chamber,” he told them. 

The two guards grinned at one another. “Is he going to put on another show for us? I wonder if we will get to watch again.” Sour Alyn smirked as he unlocked the door.

Reek waved the serving girls in ahead of him before entering the chamber and shutting the door firmly. Lady Sansa’s chamber was dark and he quickly placed his pail down on the floor and lit a candle. 

She remained in the same spot that she had been in for the last few days, a crumpled figure lost beneath a pile of fur. 

He carefully made his way to her. “Sansa,” he whispered.

If she heard him, she didn’t give any indication. 

He laid a maimed hand on her bare arm, unsure of what to do. She felt cold and clammy. She was terribly sick, but the maester said, apart from her physical injuries, the worst of the illness was in her mind and only she could cure herself.

“Sansa,” he tried again. “Please get up. This is your only chance to get out of here.”

There was a faint flutter of her lashes.

Encouraged, he tried again. “Jon is waiting for you. He’s safe and he’s hiding in the crypts. But you have to get up now so the two of you can escape.”

Two mournful pools of azure blue eyes stared up at him. “Jon’s dead.” Her voice was faint and hoarse from lack of use. “Ramsay told me.”

Reek shook his head, frantically trying to get her to believe before they ran out of time. “He’s in the crypts, m’lady. Alive and well. He’s waiting for you. We’re to meet him at the battlement. Come with me and see for yourself.”

She still looked sickly, but the frightening deadness was leaving her face, and hope was starting to spark in her eyes. “For true?” her voice quivered.

“For true,” Reek replied. He helped her up and introduced her to the serving girls.

“You’re going to wear my clothes,” Squirrel told her, handing over her grey roughspun dress. “Are any of Ramsay’s clothes in here?”

Sansa trembled, but she quickly pulled on the borrowed dress, then found Lord Ramsay’s quilted doublets and worn breeches that he’d left behind in her chamber. 

“Let’s go!” Holly instructed in a fierce whisper.

Squirrel handed Sansa her empty pail, and the rest of them picked up their empty pails.

“Remember,” Reek whispered to Sansa. “Keep your head down and don’t let your hood slide back. Not even a little bit.”

Her face was pale and taut, her eyes anxious as she nodded.

They exited the chamber, their heads down.

“Is the lady all squeaky clean and pink for Lord Ramsay?” one of the guards taunted, and the two of them guffawed. 

The small group ignored them and continued their way down the hall and then down the steps. Pails in their hands. When they reached the Great Keep door, two guards were stationed there.

Reek immediately clanked his pail against his legs to draw attention to it. “We’re returning these to the kitchen,” he informed. “Lord Ramsay’s wife was in need of a bath for when he’s done with the fire.”

The guards gave a dismissive nod and Reek hurried on his way with the group. They went to the kitchen and returned the pails. The fire was not as ferocious as before, and the commotion was dying down. They knew their time was running out. Heads down, they made their way calmly towards the battlements. When they started down the pathway to the Battlements Gate, Reek chewed his lips, wondering what to say to the guards. Six serving girls in tow, they would know something was off!

But when they reached the guards at the gate, he saw that his worry was for naught. He recognized Jon Snow and the two wildlings dressed in the Bolton armor that Squirrel had snagged for them. “What happened to the other guards?” Reek questioned. 

“Told them they were requested to help with the fire,” Jon said. “But they might be back soon. Where’s Sansa?” His anxious eyes were searching for his sister.

Sansa seemed to break out of her fear induced daze when she heard him. “Jon!” she flew into her brother’s arms, hugging him fiercely.

He held on to her even tighter, both of them trembling.

Reek averted his eyes, his worry growing. _Someone will come soon._

“We have to get moving,” Willow informed them, and the two siblings reluctantly drew apart. The group started moving again, this time with the three released prisoners. They hurried through the gate, past the frozen moat, onto the drawbridge, and finally to the steps.

 _I might die here,_ Reek despaired, gasping for breath. All of his missing toes and fingers were aching and he was freezing and shivering. _I’m almost to freedom. Mayhap I will escape with them too,_ Reek thought as they climbed up the steps to the top of the battlements.

They heard voices raising up alarms. The crossbowman defending the inner wall had spotted them.

“We need to jump!” Jon yelled. “Or they’ll fire at us!” He grabbed Sansa’s hand, leaping and disappearing out of view before the words had barely left his mouth.

Reek heard the whiz of crossbow quarrels flying through the air. He didn’t wait to feel if one would pierce him or not, he ran forward and jumped.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me. I have an unhealthy fascination with (Show) Ramsay. Maybe because I adore Iwan Rheon :)
> 
> This video sums of Sansa's experiences - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpFoIol6QNc


End file.
